


For love of paper and ink. (Or, two booksellers meet in a bar.)

by VinWrit



Series: The London Underground [1]
Category: Fledgling Gods, Gods of London Series - Original Work, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Friendship, Gen, M/M, So these two meet and bond over books, a little smidge of angst, but mostly queer immortal bookseller solidarity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:49:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VinWrit/pseuds/VinWrit
Summary: This is just a quick little crossover between Fledgling Gods (my ORIGINAL NOVEL, chapters 1-2 of which is posted here,) and Good Omens. It's entirely self-indulgent, but if there's enough interest I will definitely develop it into a longer series, because this idea has gripped me in its teeth and is refusing to let go. As for GO, I'm imagining a blend between Show! and Book! canon. Make of that what you will.This particular story takes place just after GO's Armageddon, and during the Great Collapse in FG, (inwhich Reality is collapsing - this hasn't actually been posted on ao3 yet).  I am happy to answer questions about plot points.The later story I'm planning will mostly take place during both books' Apocalypses, so this can be considered a pre-sequel, if such a thing exists.But, for now, enjoy!
Series: The London Underground [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612351
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	For love of paper and ink. (Or, two booksellers meet in a bar.)

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick little crossover between Fledgling Gods (my ORIGINAL NOVEL, chapters 1-2 of which is posted here,) and Good Omens. It's entirely self-indulgent, but if there's enough interest I will definitely develop it into a longer series, because this idea has gripped me in its teeth and is refusing to let go. As for GO, I'm imagining a blend between Show! and Book! canon. Make of that what you will.
> 
> This particular story takes place just after GO's Armageddon, and during the Great Collapse in FG, (inwhich Reality is collapsing - this hasn't actually been posted on ao3 yet). I am happy to answer questions about plot points. 
> 
> The later story I'm planning will mostly take place during both books' Apocalypses, so this can be considered a pre-sequel, if such a thing exists.
> 
> But, for now, enjoy!

Jack Hallowell sighed and shifted uneasily on her barstool, waiting to hear the particularly distinctive exhaust-note of a rather distinctive car. She was sitting in The Panic Room, a small and rather upmarket bar between the Rowland Building and Rothscaster House, which put it somewhere near the middle of Mayfair. 

Well... to most people it was The Panic Room; but she knew it as _Rendezvous point A._

She’d gotten a text that morning, from a number listed in her contacts as “Lioness”, requesting to meet at exactly nine-PM sharp. But Katie Sherwood had never been punctual. _Never_. It was now ten-minutes past ten*. 

The last time she had seen Katie had been just under a month ago. She and her cousin, the great Tiger Rowlands himself, had been attending a gala held by the Alvis Owners’ Club, showing off his pride and joy, a burgundy 1939 model painted the same wine-red hue that he often used to paint his nails, because Tiger was an odd duck and often dragged his cousin into these things.   
Jack had been casing the joint. The year had been 2012**. 

A voice pulled her from her musings; it was a nice voice, a comforting and expressive voice as soft and smooth as old velvet. It was the kind of cut-glass London voice that a few of her associates had, just without the edges knocked off.

Jack turned with a startled jerk, and her tinted glasses slid down her nose. The bar was dark enough that she could see without too much agony, so she slipped them off and hooked them into the pocket of her jacket - the sand coloured faux-leather one with all the pockets.*** 

“Ah.” Said the voice. “Excuse me, my dear young lady, but does this seat happen to be free?”

“‘Course it is.” Said Jack, turning. “Feel free to take it. ‘M waiting for a friend, but it doesn’t look like the absolute madwoman is going to show.”

The speaker was a kindly-looking man, dressed smartly; although his clothes were slightly worn and vaguely anachronistic. He had short, fluffy blond hair only a little paler than her own tresses, and there were smile-lines around his eyes, and he looked utterly harmless, if not more than a little eccentric.****

“Thank you.” He said, and flagged the bartender over. “The 1922 Chateneuf-de-Pape, please.” 

Jack whistled as the wine-bottle was slid across the polished mahogany surface of the bar-top, envisioning the hefty price-tag that such a vintage would come with. 

“Wow. You have good taste.” 

A healthy glass-full was poured, and he took a drink. Jack vaulted over the bar with catlike grace and got herself an Appletizer from the cooler, gesturing to the bar’s owner to simply put it on her tab. And then, just as nimbly, she shimmied back over to the other side and re-took her seat.

“Have you ever tried it, then?” Wine-Guy asked her, tilting his head curiously, and in the half-light she could swear that his eyes were glowing slightly. 

“Once.” Jack said. “At a charity dinner. It was frightfully dull, so I had to find something to cheer myself up.”

“Ah.” He said, and frowned, looking vaguely crestfallen before taking another hearty gulp of the wine. 

“Look.” Said Jack. “I don’t mean to pry, but... bad day?”

He sighed. “You could say that.. my bookshop - well, it burnt down.”

Jack gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “I’ve been there.” She said. “All my books, my antiques, all gone just like-“   
And then she paused.   
“Wait a minute, I heard about that on the news! Fell’s, wasn’t it? A. Z. Fell and Co.?”

He gave a tired smile. “That was it, yes.”

“Oh,” Said Jack, genuinely. “Oh, I’m so sorry. It’s such a shame; I've loved that place for ages.” She held out her hand for him to shake*****. 

“I’m Jack Hallowell, I run a place up in Reading. _Hallowell’s Haven, purveyors of Rare Volumes and Antiquarian Oddities_? Y’might’ve heard of it.”

He took her hand and shook it. “Aziraphale Fell. It’s a pleasure, dear.”

“Hey, weren’t you at that big estate sale a few months ago? I’m sure you were.”

“Oh, yes. You bought that big marble table.” He said, cocking an eyebrow. 

“You walked away with that Binns manuscript. Goodness, I was mad for days!” Jack laughed, and swigged her fizzy apple juice, cackling. “You lucky bugger. Snagged it from right under my nose!”

“Yes. Quite.” He paused. “If you don’t mind me asking... you said your bookshop burned down?”

Jack sighed, tracing patterns on the worn wood of the bar counter. “Yep. Greek fire and a nineteenth-century oil lamp did it. The building stayed standing, barely. Nothing salvageable. I reopened in a new property, a little sixteenth-century cottage. You?”

“A candle fell over, and all the paper caught. I was able to replace most of it, but it’s not quite the same.”

Both parties sobered at that. 

“I guess it never is.” Jack mumbled. “When you lose things, I mean. Like, my best friend, her cousin’s been unofficially missing for a few weeks now, but we were told that he was going into hiding, so... everything has changed.”

“It’s quite ineffable, my dear Miss Hallowell.” 

A phone rang, and Jack checked her pockets before saying, “Must be yours.”  
The ringtone was Queen’s “you’re my best friend”, and Jack couldn’t help but think of Katie. 

“D’you know what,” she said, as Mr. Fell rummaged in his pockets, “My mate Katie, her car eats CDs it doesn’t like?”

“My friend’s Bentley turns everything into Queen.” The older bookseller grumbled.

“Ooh, a Bentley? Talk about a dream car- what sort?”

He found his phone with a yell of triumph, only to accidentally turn it off in his haste to find the right button to take the call.

“1926, I think.”

“No freaking way.” Jack breathed. “I think I saw one once. This friend of yours... tall thin bloke with sunglasses?”

“Yes.” Came the answer. “That does sound like Crowley.”

“And, by friend, do you mean boyfriend?”

Mr. Fell scowled. “Why does everyone assume that?”

“Because you two would be an _adorable_ couple.” Said Jack, who’d started taking vodka shots as the clock hands turned towards eleven and was already well over the threshold of tipsiness. 

“Oh, yes.” He blushed. “I see.. thank-you.” 

Jack stood up to leave. “Looks like she’s not coming after all. If you’re ever in the Reading area, feel free to pop in. I’ll give you a tour.”

Mr Fell nodded, and the two odd booksellers shook hands and parted, both with heavy weights of secrets upon their shoulders.

* * *

* Katie, as a rule, was never, _never_ on time. Jack found it dreadfully ironic, and Katie always blamed the traffic police or the M25, but the Ford Capri she drove was well-practiced at dodging the London traffic, and the speed-cameras and highway authorities knew all too well to look the other way when she passed. Few forces were truly unstoppable in this universe; but Katie Sherwood in her beloved car was definitely one of them. 

** Time-travel, as anyone who knows anything will be able to tell you, is a _dreadfully_ overcomplicated business, and a subject of which the general public was alarmingly miseducated. Jack put it down to a lack of school funding.

*** She liked that jacket. Pockets were good. 

**** Jack maintained the opinion that these were her favourite type of people. 

***** She'd been one of the first patrons after the grand opening in 1801, and she found it charming that the owner had always managed to _never actually sell anything_.

**Author's Note:**

> So, what did you think? feel free to drop a comment or ask questions, and please let me know if you'd like me to write more of this crossover :)


End file.
